


The Sugarmakers

by QueenOfCarrotFlowers



Series: Georgia Runoff Election Prompts [3]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Lactation Kink, Nymphs & Dryads, maple syrup farming, tree fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27606143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfCarrotFlowers/pseuds/QueenOfCarrotFlowers
Summary: It's late winter and the forest is beginning to warm up, which means it's time for maple syrup farmer Ben Solo to tap the trees.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Georgia Runoff Election Prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015236
Comments: 21
Kudos: 84





	The Sugarmakers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [murderblimp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderblimp/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [misscharleypollard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscharleypollard/pseuds/misscharleypollard). Log in to view. 



> A sugarmaker is a person who makes maple syrup by tapping the trees and boiling the sap.
> 
> To encourage people to make donations to the senate runoff election in the US state of Georgia I offered to write prompts for people who made donations, and this is one of those fics!
> 
> Murderblimp's prompt: dryadlo where Ben comes sap OR inverse where Rey is dryad and she lactates sap.
> 
> I chose the second option, taking inspiration from MizTooka's honey lactation fic "Neroli & Honey" and [her dryad!Ben art, which you can give some love to over on Twitter](https://twitter.com/MizTooka/status/1328764795152166913?s=20). 
> 
> If you don't know what a tree knot is, here is an illustrative photograph:
> 
> Murderblimp, thanks so much for the prompt and for donating to support the runoff election!
> 
> Thank you to flypaper_brain for brainstorming and betaing this fic <3

It’s mid-February, which means it’s time to tap the maple trees. This is Ben’s favorite time of the year, and it has been since he was young, when he used to tap the trees with his father and his Uncle Luke. But Uncle Luke left years ago, and his father won’t be up and about for a few hours, and Ben doesn’t have any children of his own, so now, for a while at least, it’s just him.

The forest looks beautiful in the slant of the dawn's light. There was a frost overnight, but the moment the sun peeked over the horizon the air began to warm. As Ben stomped through the rotten leaves—no longer crunching after being under the snow for months—he breathed deeply, savoring the scent of the earth and the wood waking up around him. The birds not yet awake, the forest was silent aside from the shuffle of Ben’s feet and the clatter of the bag at his side. The bag contained his drill, hammer, spiles, and extra tubing—just in case. One of the changes that Ben had made when he took over the farm was changing from old-fashioned buckets to a centralized reservoir. It saved effort at the end, but it necessitated installing a system of tubing running all over the farm, and a vacuum in the sugar house to keep it moving smoothly. It was probably just as much work as the old system, but at least it didn’t require Ben to lug heavy buckets around for weeks on end.

The sugarmaker found the last tree he’d tapped the day before, and moved onto the next. He’d been doing it for so long it was second nature—find the old tapping hole, drill the new one— _Not too close!_ He could still hear his father’s warning voice in his head—hammer in the spile, hook it up to the closest tube, double-check the connection, then move on to the next tree. He hummed as he worked, tree after tree, until he ran out spiles and his wrists were beginning to get sore. There was a section of tubing closer to the sugar house that needed replacing, so he took some time fixing that, too. By the time he was finished the birds were chirping and he was beginning to get hungry, and the collar of his jacket was touched with sweat; although it was still technically winter, spring was getting ready to show herself, and it was already getting quite warm. He’d be seeing crocuses and daffodils curling up from under the winter’s leftovers within the next week, he was certain. But instead of heading back to his cottage, he turned around and made his way deeper into the forest, as he had every day since he’d started tapping the trees this year.

He walked slowly, stepped gently, as the trees grew closer together and the shadows deepened. After several minutes he reached a thicket, and once he shouldered through he emerged into a clearing, and in the center of the clearing was a tree.

It was a sugar maple tree, like most of the other trees in Ben’s forest, but aside from its type it was unlike all the rest. It was older, for one thing. Ben had no idea how old, exactly, but it had been there when he was a child, and when his mother was a child, and when his mother’s mother was a child, and probably for many years before. It was bigger, too, the largest tree for miles around; its branches reached further out and higher up than any of the others. It had its own space, here in the clearing, and yet its influence touched every other tree in this forest, and in forests beyond.

Ben stepped into the clearing with reverence and began to slowly circle the tree. He wasn’t sure whether to expect anything; yesterday when he’d made this trip nothing had been there to greet him except for the family of chickadees nesting in the highest branches, and they’d been distinctly unimpressed with him. It was still early in the season, he reminded himself; there’s no reason she would show herself this early. A few years before, he hadn’t seen her until the second week of March.

As he stepped around to the front of the tree, where the sun shined down most vibrantly, Ben was greeted by a creaky whisper and the soft trembling of branches. His heart leaped in his chest, and he hopped the rest of the way around so he could see her clearly.

Where yesterday had been a solid tree trunk a gap had grown, a narrow opening in the bark that began at the root and widened as it rose, uncovering more and more of the smooth wood beneath, until it opened up completely where the branches began to divide at the top of the trunk. Out of that smoothness thrust the form of a woman—a beautiful woman, with eyes the color of moss and hair and skin the shade of the tree she was born of. Her body was well-proportioned and delightful, slightly larger than a normal human’s would be, her head high enough that Ben had to look up to gaze into her face. She had breasts like a human, although like the rest of her they were fashioned of wood, and at the point where a human’s hips would be she became one with the tree, her only other nod to human physiology was a knot in the trunk that opened several inches below where her torso leaned out of the tree. Ben tried not to stare too hard at her breasts, or at her knot, choosing to focus instead on her face. It wasn’t too hard to do, because she was beautiful. Her smile was bright and as Ben approached she yawned, reaching her arms above her head and stretching, as though she’d just awakened from a long and satisfying sleep—which, in fact, she had.

“Benoit,” she said, her voice sounding deep and sleepy, but pleased. “I just woke up and you are the first person I see.”

“Rey,” he replied, trying to control the excitement in his voice. “You’re awake!” He cringed at his own words— _obviously_ she was awake, but she chuckled and let her arms fall to her sides. 

“Oh, my dear Benoit. Come closer so I can see you. You always change so much when I’m asleep.” Ben obeyed her request, stepping close enough that she could put her hands on his face, run them through his hair. “You’re so warm, Benoit.” Her touch was tender and as she caressed him his eyes slipped closed, and he allowed himself to fall in with the forest; the breeze through the branches, still naked but just waiting for the chance to bud, the scent of the earth, the song of the birds and the movement of the trees and Rey’s soft voice, murmuring his name. “Benoit, Benoit, Benoit.”

Rey insisted on referring to him with his full name, as he’d been introduced to her by his mother so many years before. She had never called him _Ben_ but he’d never asked her to—his name on her lips was a benediction, and she was his grace. His mother had called her a dryad, a spirit of the forest. “She takes care of us, Ben,” she’d explained to him after that first strange meeting when he’d been no more than six or seven years old, “and we take care of her.” That meant tapping her with utmost respect, trimming her branches when she asked, and laying offerings at her roots—these days it was nothing but the finest organic compost, made on the farm and kept exclusively for her all year long. A few years ago Ben had started doing other things at her request, too. When he’d asked her if his father or uncle or mother had done these things with her she’d laughed and said of course not, and he’d chosen to believe her.

Ben came back to himself when Rey’s lips pressed against his. They were soft, somehow, smooth and pillowy, but cold, and he moved his mouth to cover hers in an attempt to warm her up. She chuckled and tugged him away by his hair.

“Dear Benoit,” she said, and he opened his eyes again to look up into hers. They were serious, just the hint of a smile at their corners. “I’ve missed you.”

“You’ve been asleep,” he replied, and that made her smile.

“I can miss you while I’m asleep. I dream, you know.”

“I didn’t know that,” Ben said, in honest surprise. “Do you… what do you dream about?” 

“I dream about the forest,” she answered gently, her fingers still curling through his hair, “asleep in the winter. I dream about snow, which I’ve felt, but never seen. And I dream about you, of course.”

She said _of course_ and it made Ben’s heart sing. “I dream about you, too,” he admitted. 

She grinned at that, but then suddenly cringed, and Ben stepped back and ventured a glance down at her chest. He had seen that cringe before, and he thought he knew what it meant. The drip of pale yellow liquid that fell from the dark nipple of her left breast, followed quickly by another drip from her right, told Ben that he was right.

“How are you feeling?”

“Full,” she answered, letting go of his hair and raising her hands over her head again, bending them behind her so her elbows rested on either side of her head. Ben tugged off his leather gloves and let them fall to the ground, then brought his hands to her breasts and cupped them gently in his palms. They were cool and smooth, and although his skin recognized them as wood they gave under his fingertips, and they were heavy and full. “So warm,” she murmured. He gave them a tentative squeeze and Rey whined as thin streams of liquid sprayed out in all directions, dousing his hands and landing across his cheek. His tongue darted out to catch a trace that landed at the corner of his mouth. “Benoit,” she groused, “you’re teasing! Don’t tease me.”

Ben didn’t think he was a smart man, but he knew that when a dryad tells you not to tease her that you need to stop teasing. So he did what he knew she wanted him to do; he took one of her nipples between his lips and suckled it, gulping down the sweet liquid that flooded his mouth, now flowing so freely that it dripped out of his lips and threatened to choke him. Rey held his head and spoke to him through it, beautiful nonsense, as she whined and whispered and sighed. He swallowed it all, drinking and drinking until it slowed to a trickle and he switched to her other breast and did it again.

"Please, Benoit," Rey murmured, squirming beneath his touch. "Please. I need you." Ben’s heartbeat quickened; he needed her too. Without taking his mouth off her, Ben unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock, which was already hard and yearning for Rey, had been yearning for her touch since she fell asleep back in the autumn. His hand found her knot; it was soft, like her breasts, and dripping slick. He pressed his fingers into it and it opened readily, making just enough space for him to fit. Without delay he thrust in, and he gasped at the sensation, which was both odd and familiar. He had missed her so much through the cold months of winter. She gasped, too, and whispered his name, over and over. Ben thought that he would never get tired of hearing Rey say his name. He held her nipple in his mouth and gripped her bark with the tips of his fingers. It was thick, cold and hard, biting into his skin, but it kept her close to him so the pain was worth it.

He came with a shuddering moan and she laughed, a joyous sound echoed by the dancing branches of the trees around them. She milked him until he was dry, and only then did she allow him to pull away from her. Her breast was drained, too, the flow slowed to a mere trickle.

“I feel so much better, thank you,” she said, returning her fingers to his hair. She had always been fascinated by his hair—thick and long even when he was a child—and he luxuriated under her attention.

“You’re welcome. I love to do that with you.”

“I know you do,” she said, amused. “I like it too—tapping your sap, it’s only fair. Now it’s time to hook me up, I think, so I don’t get so full again.”

Ben went to his bag and pulled out the last pieces—two plastic cups joined by a belt with a buckle, several feet long, and each cup attached to its own set of tubing. He’d fashioned the set-up himself, based on the design of his friend Rose’s fancy breast pump. Rey held the cups against her breasts and Ben pressed a kiss to each before he slowly walked the belt around the trunk of her tree, making sure that the buckle stayed in the front—this way it was easy for her to remove it if she wanted to. He hooked the cups to the tubes that passed through the thicket several feet away and tested the connection to make sure it was good.

“Does that feel good?” He walked back to Rey and took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. 

“It does, thank you. Just enough suction to keep the sap moving.” Ben hummed and pressed her fingers against his cheek. They were so cold, yet they were warmer than any person he’d ever touched. She was warm. She was everything. “Come back and see me tomorrow?” 

“Of course.” He kissed her fingers, one after the other. “As soon as I’m done tapping.”

“It’s lovely to see you again, Benoit.” She grasped his chin and lifted his face up to look into hers. “You are my favorite part of waking up.”

“And you’re mine,” Ben answered, standing on his toes to give her a kiss before he turned to walk back through the thicket.

**Author's Note:**

> I did just a little bit of research for this fic. If you are knowledgable about maple syrup farming or dryads and you see ways that I can improve those details, please let me know and I will make changes. 
> 
> Ben's full name in this fic is inspired by "Coeur A Sucre," a delightful fic featuring Quebecois sugarmaker Benoît Soleaux and human Rey - only one chapter so far, but worth reading if you are into maple syrup farming.
> 
> I am @flowerofcarrots on Twitter, come talk to me about lactation kink or sugarmaking!


End file.
